


I Owe You One

by artemispuff



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Pre-Fall, body enhancements, friends who are worried for each other but also hypocrites, kind of rambley, not mercykill, some post-fall, this started as a joke, why does everything I touch turn to angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemispuff/pseuds/artemispuff
Summary: Angela Ziegler needs a favor and Gabriel Reyes is the man for the job.





	I Owe You One

Gabriel Reyes was a late worker.

Hours of thinking, restlessness, and (while he wouldn’t admit it) bad dreams kept him awake most nights anyway so he always figured he may as well make use of his restless mind and do something useful. It was then that he usually got his paperwork done since his days were usually used in meetings and corralling his team because McCree and Shimada were both characters who were eager to get into trouble for completely different reasons and if he didn’t keep his eye on them, he’d find them either brawling or harassing Angela Zeigler.

All of that generally only left the late nights and early mornings to actually getting anything done outside of mission parameters. Reports had to be written, paperwork had to be filed, and intel had to be read over. During the time where the whole base was silent and there was no one to bother him was the time to do it.

So color him surprised when there was a tentative but then decisive knock on his office door at a quarter to two in the morning.

Usually he’d just grunt out a ‘come in’ and wait to see who would bother him but thanks to the time, Gabe was honestly curious – given these were not his normal office hours and he was pretty sure only Ana and Jack knew he worked these times.

And they weren’t knockers.

He got up, hefting up his shirt and scratching at spot just under his ribs as he ambled to the door. The bright side to these late work nights was that nobody was going to give him flack if he wandered around the base in his shirt and shorts and a pair of flip flops.

He could only arch an eyebrow in surprise when Dr. Angela Zeigler looked up at him sheepishly once the door was open. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks were dusty with what he assumed was an embarrassed blush. Unlike him, she still wore more work appropriate attire, a file folder hugged close to her body. The only thing she was lacking was her lab coat.

“Doctor Zeigler,” He greeted casually, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Angela, please,” She started before shifting, “May I speak with you, Commander Reyes?”

“Gabe.” He corrected her because it was too late-slash-early for pleasantries and it certainly seemed she felt the same way, “It wasn’t McCree or Shimada, was it?” He asked, opening the door further and she stepped inside quickly, moving to sit in one of the worn chairs in front of his desk, “I told those two to leave you be, especially during working hours-“

“It’s nothing about them,” She assured, “And they’re no bother.”

“Then what has you in my office at this time of night?” Gabe asked, never one to beat around the bush. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk.

He was well aware that Angela kept hours very much like his. More than once he’d heard his recruits comment that they ought to convince Ana to sleep dart her so she could get a few hours of rest and more than once he’d heard someone ask her when was the last time she slept or ate. It was respectable, honestly, that dedication. He was glad she was looking after the health and safety of his team.

“I have a presentation tomorrow,” Angela explained, “To the board regarding my uniform. The current one is not…well…it’s not as practical as I’d prefer.”

“Yeah,” Gabe agreed, “Not a fan of the stupid little hat.” She made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like she wanted to chastise him for insulting the uniform but couldn’t agree more at the same time. “And if you’re looking for input I’m pretty sure Winston or even Jack and Ana would be better input than me.”

She bent at the file folder a little bit, that dusty blush filtering on her face again as she looked tense, awkward even, “It’s not input I need,” She replied, “But I do need your help.” The blush brightened, “And I’m _so sorry_ I’m asking in the first place but you’re my last resort, Com-“

“Gabe.”

“Gabriel.” She compromised, and he didn’t quite mind it since ‘Gabriel’ always sounded nicer with an accent. She closed her eyes for a moment, sucking in a breath and let it out slowly to regather herself, “Technically speaking, the presentation is perfect. Anyone who could read it and understand the science and engineering behind it would probably support it. But the board isn’t entirely science and engineering. They need a visual.”

He could tell where she was going with this and he did not like it. “You’re asking me to make you a costume in less than a night?” He asked, voice deadpan and respect for the well-respected doctor starting to drop.

She seemed just as appalled as he was about to feel, “Of course not!” She replied, “That would…no, that’s ridiculous.” She put her hands up defensively, “I know the work it takes to sew and create what you do for fun. Such a timeline would be…it’d be cruel of me.”

“Alright, then, what are you asking for?”

“A sketch?” She asked sheepishly, “Like those design sketches I see you do sometimes?” She flinched under his gaze and chewed at her lip, her grip on the file folder becoming more white-knuckle with nerves and determination. “Gabriel. I would only come out of desperation, I assure you. I’ve tried everything and due to the circumstances of this being extremely confidential I couldn’t just commission an artist so…willy nilly-“

“Why can’t you do it?”

Her mouth snapped shut, eyes wide and face bright with embarrassment. She stumbled over her words for a few moments and he allowed her to gather her thoughts and find the inner strength to give him a viable reason to bother him at two in the morning, asking for a fashion sketch.

“I…can’t draw.” She finally admitted.

He snorted at that.

Usually when people said they couldn’t draw they were either pretty alright, good enough to create a passible design and just really lacked technical knowledge and practice, or just didn’t try. There was no such thing as someone who ‘couldn’t’ draw.

“What have you got?” He challenged her.

Her eyes were pleading for him to not say anything too awful as her fingers went to the file folder and offered him a handful of pages – a handful of attempts at what she wanted her design to look like. He took them, not expecting anything too terrible and hoping that with a good enough pep talk, he could shoo her off so he could finish his work and fuck off to try and get a couple of hours of decent sleep.

Then he actually looked at the pictures.

Angela Ziegler was a gorgeous woman. She was smart, eloquent, probably one of the nicest people he’d met though a bit over-righteous. Aside from tonight he’d never seen a hair out of place, she never looked sloppy and she was never short tempered. Honestly, he’d always figured she was either a mass hallucination or a literal gift from God. She literally was flawless except for thinking she could save everyone and…apparently, she couldn’t draw her way out of a Goddamn paper bag.

“Is this _crayon_?” He managed to ask, sifting through some of the pages – there were at least two dozen ‘sketches’ here and all of them equally atrocious. Angela made Gabe honestly question if art classes could even save her.

“I found them in a spare desk, I suspect they’re from when Fareeha was a little girl.” She admitted.

“Probably,” He agreed, cringing at one picture in particular. The wings looked like fingers, her head was potato shaped, and Michelangelo could draw better breasts.

Angela Zeigler was not as perfect as he thought.

This was _wild_.

“This the color scheme you wanted?” He asked, holding up a crayon version of her attempt at drawing the suit.  
  
She nodded and he hummed, sifting through the Godawful pictures some more and trying to keep a straight face through all of it. He could not laugh at this young lady when she was coming to him for help after trying her best.

At least, not in front of her.

He hummed, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin before circling around his desk to pick up a blue-ink pen and yank a piece of paper out of the printer tray. Overwatch was a paper-free organization but paranoia left Gabe keeping paper only copies of certain intel.

“So what I’m guessing here is that this is a chest plate?” He guessed, sliding the terrible attempts at drawings aside to read her design notes. She nodded and he made another thoughtful noise, sketching out a vague shape, “I want to talk about these boots. You need something that’s a bit more protective of your ankles and shins…And the least you could do to repay me for this is brew up a pot of coffee.”

She straightened up, alert now that she realized he had agreed to help her. “How do you like your coffee?” She asked.

“Black.”

“I’ll be right back,” She promised, pushing herself from the chair and marching out of his office, her heels clicking along on the linoleum floor of the base with such determination that he could still hear her when he was certain she was at least halfway towards the nearest kitchenette.

 With her descriptions (at least she was excellent at verbally describing the suit design), Gabe was certain he’d be able to sketch out the design with some minor improvements to her original idea. He knew the uniform had to reflect her as a person and her role in Overwatch. She was a pacifist (despite Jack insisting she carry and learn to use a firearm for self-defense purposes) and it should reflect as such so that when she came flying down to aid the wounded they wouldn’t automatically fire at her.

With her blonde hair and blue eyes his mind often went straight to the angels that showed up in the Christmas Specials he’d watch as a little boy. His grandmother once told him the origins of his name was after the Archangel – the messenger of God. His mother told him his name came from the fact that his parents’ ‘song’ was The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel.

He wasn’t a romantic but he liked the song and he was skeptical on the idea of Angels existing.

Hell, he doubted God even existed.

However, he remembered, more than once, lying on the ground and putting pressure on some sort of wound only to see the shine of blue wings and the silhouette of a figure reaching out to him as Angela fell to him from the dropship. As Angela used her biotic technology, he’d muse that maybe God was real and existed in the way the fibers of his cells stitched each other back up within moments was a miracle. Perhaps science was God. Or God was science.

It was these thoughts that had Gabe sketching out a halo mechanism for Angela’s suit. Her notes stated that she wanted a better way to keep track of team vitals and while some form of visor or glasses would do the job, a halo that covered the expanse of her peripheral vision would do a lot more for her. She could see more in one look than when having to turn her head.

Maybe she could have some sort of targeting system as well but that would be something for Winston to investigate during the R&D process.

He glanced up at her as she clicked back into the room and carefully set a mug of coffee on his desk – a folded paper towel used as a makeshift coaster and he nodded in thanks, looking over her notes some more. She gingerly sat down with her own cup of coffee and shifted, leaning down towards her heeled boots.

“Do you mind?” She asked.

He scooted back in his chair, twisting to kick a leg in the air to reveal his bare foot as he had abandoned his flip flops the moment he sat down. “Only if you don’t.”

She let out a soft laugh and carefully balanced her mug on a paper towel of her own before unzipping the boots and kicking off. She sighed in content, wiggling her socked feet and leaning back a bit in her chair. “I really should consider getting a good pair of sneakers,” She confessed.

“Honestly, you of all people don’t seem the heels wearing type, Doc,” He teased, “Haven’t you seen what they do to people’s feet?”

“They make me feel tall,” She replied promptly. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m working with giants. Lena and Ana have their ways of making themselves seen amongst you, and I have mine.”

“Fair enough,” He allowed, taking a sip of coffee and using the moment to peer over the mug and study Angela since she was the person who would be wearing this proposed design. Armor to cover her chest and maybe something bulletproof for her sides and back. Protective boots. The halo – which he hoped she liked to be honest.

He picked up her notes and studied what he was forgetting, his brow furrowing when his eyes scanned over a certain term.

“What’s an ‘S.E.S’?” He asked, purely out of curiosity.

She seemed to brighten at that, “Would you like to see?” She asked, “Winston and I designed it together when he was working on new possible designs for Lena’s Chronal Accelerator.” She worked at the buttons of her shirt but kept talking and Gabe quickly averted his eyes because he wasn’t sure how to interrupt her, “See, Winston toyed with the idea of implanting it directly into her nervous system in order to avoid it getting stolen or the like, but he scrapped the idea as it would be difficult to repair and maintain – possibly needed surgery every time. He talked to me about the nervous system in his research stages, however and I realized that I would have better flight capabilities if my wings were connected to my spine. And so-“  
  
Gabe glanced at her when she shifted out of the corner of his eye and he stared in horror as the young woman before him lowered her button-up shirt enough to reveal a series of implants running down the sides of her spine – like some sort of input ports in her skin.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Ziegler, what did you do to yourself?” He asked, voice hushed as he forced himself to stay in his seat and not rush to investigate whether there was any sign of serious harm. “Do you realize the risk you – did Overwatch _sanction_ this?” He demanded.

She hefted her shirt back over her shoulders and turned, rebuttoning the blouse, “They’ll sanction anything if you word it right. You should know that, _Commander Reyes_.” She met his eyes when she said his name, challenging him to dispute her.

She was telling him that she was well aware of Blackwatch’s purpose in the organization and that he had no place to talk.

He huffed a bit, sighing through his nose and taking another long drink of coffee, “Okay,” He allowed, “Fine. Spinal thing so you can synch in to your wings or whatever.”

There was a moment of silence, a building tension that he could tell was making Angela uncomfortable as he finished his sketch and grabbed a sharpie to make more concise lines.

“Are you mad at me?”

He glanced up at her, honestly a bit surprised at how childish she sounded but she was a young girl in her twenties – still technically trying to find her legs in a world that was constantly rocking the boat.

“Not mad,” He assured her. “Just disappointed.” He mentally flinched at how positively _Dad_ that sounded. “Kid, you’re a leading surgeon and you were top of your class in getting a medical degree. You know how dangerous it is to mess with your spine…”

“And I know how to fix whatever may come,” She assured. “Gabriel, it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. Look at Jesse’s arm. Look at Genji.”

“And the difference between you and then is that they needed those,” He didn’t want to say enhancements because that would make it sound purposeful (then again, Genji was in a way). “Treatments. You’re perfectly healthy.”

“And now I can save even more people,” She insisted.

He gave her a doubtful look before holding up the black and white sketch. “I’ll scan and color it if you like it well enough.” He told her, letting her gingerly take the paper.

He picked up his coffee and then cringed at the taste of too much sugar and….was that all spice and…apple pie spice? He glanced at Angela’s coffee and shook his head, setting it down to take his actual, good and strong coffee instead. Why bother drinking it if you’re going to make it taste completely different?

He glanced at the clock and noted it was short after four in the morning.

“Did you intend for it to look so…angelic?” She asked, a light humor in her voice though the exhaustion was apparent in her eyes.

“Are you criticizing it?” Gabe asked her with just as much humor.

She shook her head, a flash of fear that maybe he’d take the sketch back crossing her face, “Not at all,” She assured, “It’s just…I don’t know…” She shifted nervously in her seat, “You don’t think people would think poorly of me for dressing like an Angel, trying to save lives, do you? I mean, I know I’ve always had the wings but the halo…””

Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it and the way she looked at her lap in embarrassment was almost endearing. He could see a bit why Jesse and Genji were so drawn to her. She was a good person who radiated a feeling that you could do good if you just tried. She absolutely deserved to wear those ridiculous wings and halo. She fucking risked her ability to _walk and feel_ in order to make her ability to reach the injured better.

While Blackwatch rubbed criminal grime out with the heels of their boots and Overwatch took on the more mainstream villains, Gabe realized that Angela Zeigler was trying to find the best in people and give them the chance they deserved.

“Of course they will,” Gabe replied nonchalantly. “But if you’re doing the job, you’ve got a right to the wings and halo.” She looked at him sheepishly and he leaned forward, giving her an earnest look, “You’re a good person, Ziegler. If anyone deserves to save lives dressed as a messenger of God, it’s you, kid.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.” She sat up straighter, looked a bit more determined as she cleared her throat. “I look up to you, you know. You and Commander Morrison and-“ She paused. “I look up to you and Jack and Ana.” She corrected herself, “I don’t know what you do in Blackwatch and I won’t pretend to be oblivious to what Blackwatch is for, but I’ve seen your dedication to your team. I’ve seen how you do your best to take the most damage. Genji and Jesse will have mere scratches while you come back with fractured bones. And I want to thank you for that.”

“Why?” She must have known that he was the type to take risks to save his team.

“Because, Commander Reyes, if you don’t do the job, somebody who may not be so caring will,” She replied.

He studied her for a moment before letting out a chuckle, her surprised face amusing him even more as he leaned forward on the desk, snatching back the sketch so he could scan and color it to add a little pizazz to her presentation.

“We’re a lot alike, you and I,” He told her. “Two sides of the same coin, even.”

“And how is that?” She asked, pulling her coffee cup to her as she watched him focus on his computer screen.

“We both go to great lengths to ensure our teams are okay,” He started, “We’re workaholics who don’t know when to take a break,” That earned a laugh from her, “We’re both experts on the matters of life and death.”

“I hardly consider us the same in that regard,” She challenged and he shrugged, “Fine, you’re an expert on the matters of life and I am of death.” He grinned but she didn’t seem amused by his joke.

She never was one for a morbid sense of humor.

“You may be right in some aspects, Gabriel, but in others I think we’re worlds different.” Her tone was worse than a scolding one – it was disappointment.

Part of him wanted to defend himself to this young lady, to assure her that he knew damn well he wasn’t the best person – that he had far too much blood on his hands and each drop tainted his dreams and made his head swim with visions of blood and oil that he never could scrub from his clothes. From his hands.

He didn’t want to believe in a God because then he’d have to believe in His Judgement.

Instead he said nothing, finishing up the design and printing it out, only to hesitate on giving it to her. “This suit’s going to make you a symbol, kid. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Look at Morrison and his statue,” Gabe explained, “Look at the news every time Blackwatch has a mission. You deserve this, but by wearing this costume and not an Overwatch designed one…it’s going to put you under a microscope. You’re going to get a lot of positive publicity, but you’re going to get the same amount of negative publicity too.”

She chewed her lip, mulling that over for a moment before giving him the most determined look he’d ever seen.

“Then I’ll just have to prove the nay-sayers wrong.”

He chuckled, “Atta girl.”

The praise was a risk since he wasn’t sure if she would be insulted by the phrasing or not, but she merely smiled brightly at him and accepted the sketch – tucking it safely in her file folder before scooping up her boots. “It means so much to me for you to do this, Gabriel. I realize how late…early?....how whatever it is and I know I interrupted your work to do it.”

He waved her off, “I hate paperwork so you saved me, really.” He joked.

She got up and smiled, “Still, I owe you one.” She insisted before making her way towards the door towards the door. “Now, I think a shower is in order. My presentation is at seven, after all.”

“Ziegler,” She turned, holding the file folder at her side and managing to grip her boots with one hand, “You never said if you liked the design.”

She smiled, amusement reaching her eyes, “I love it,” She assured, “Thank you, Gabriel.”

“Bitte schön.” He smiled when she let out a soft laugh and closed the door behind her as she left the room.

Gabe glanced at the clock and sighed.

Not enough time for a power nap so a quick run, a cold shower, and about a pot of coffee would half to do it.

He glanced back down at his desk and realized Angela had left her nightmare inducing attempts at drawings. He picked up one – obviously inspired by looking at one of Genji’s comics since it was so middle school ‘How to Draw Manga’ with a bit that reminded him of Picasso’s ‘Seated Woman’ painting.

He tucked them into his drawer for safe keeping.

 

* * *

 

“Sombra, come in.”

Static.

He grunted, leaning heavily against the cold wet stone as he focused on holding a corporeal form and ignoring the woman who took hesitant steps towards him. The only source of light in the darkened alleyway was the shine of her wings and the halo on her head. He’d think the thing was ridiculous if he weren’t so aware of its functionality and he merely grunted out a laugh when she pulled a pathetic little pistol on him.

“None of that, doc,” He ground out, grabbing her arm and squeezing tight enough for her to drop the gun. He moved too fast, and curled a bit in agony the pain shot through him, ignoring her soft gasp. He felt a bolt of electricity shoot up his spine and was glad the mask would hide the obvious pain and worry that was leaking into his expression now.

“You’re hurt,” She managed out and he wasn’t sure if it was out of concern or just stating a fact.

He looked up at her, studying the determined face he’d known so long ago and he could tell she was scanning for an escape route. Instead, he took one of his shotguns and steadied its aim for right between her eyes.

“Do something about it,” He challenged her.

She merely took a step back. “And why should I do that?” She spat out, but he could see her eyes dart to her staff – it had fallen out of her hands when he shoved her out of the way in order to take the bullet Widowmaker had intended for her forehead.

The Sniper was probably long gone to avoid his wrath.

“Because you owe me one, doc.”

The confusion on her face was evident but he lowered his gun anyway, groaning as the muscles in his back spasmed and his legs nearly gave way. She reached out to him but then stopped herself, remembering who he was and who she was for a moment before dropping to her knees anyway.

“This is a momentary truce,” She informed him curtly, “Because I took an oath.”

“Above all else, do no harm,” He stated in a mocking tone. “You realize once this is over I plan on shooting you.”

“If you shoot me, then I’ve done my job of healing you,” She replied curtly, shoving his shoulder gently so she could look at his back. There was a moment of silence before she spoke with a voice that was colder than he’d ever heard, “Where did you get this?”

“What?”

“This…the S.E.S. on your back,” She all but snarled, “Why do _you_ have a Spinal Enhancement System?”

He laughed, finding it ironic that she of all people would be angry that he had this system. He laughed too hard, however, and legs really did give out from under him this time, but instead of hitting the ground, his lower half dissolved into dark mist. The pain was so searing, he struggled to focus enough to bring solidity back to his legs, landing hard on his knees.

He glanced at Mercy, her mouth in a small ‘o’ shape as she quickly put together what had just happened.

There was a moment of silence before she cleared her throat, “It’s malfunctioned due to the gunshot,” She told him.

“No shit, doc.”

She ignored him and went on, “I wouldn’t be able to repair it here, I don’t have the tools but from what I can see, you won’t need surgery as the S.E.S. took the brunt of the hit. You’ll most likely experience some bruising though.”

“I think that’s the least of my problems,” He snarked.

She ignored him yet again and turned her back to him. “Take the fourth node up.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Take the fourth node up. Just be a little gentle in pulling it out, please. It won’t be a permanent fix, but it should enable you to hold yourself together until you get some proper repairs.”

“You won’t be able to fly away,” He informed her.

“Like you’d let me escape.” She told him.

He grunted, bracing one hand along her side, the claws of his gloves scratching at the armor plating on her front as he carefully, but firmly, pulled the fourth node from her back. She made a slight noise of discomfort but quickly turned around anyway, swatting at his hand. She took the node wordlessly and with the speed and precision of a World Leading Surgeon swapped his damaged node for hers.

“The other nodes will have to pick up the slack, but like I said, this is not a permanent solution. I’m sure Talon can fix you up well enough,” She sniffed, sounding a bit annoyed that she could only do the equivalent of a school nurse for him.

The pain ebbed away to dull throb and after a few moments, he looked at her, allowing his thoughts to stray and found that he could do so and stay solid. She held his gaze, shoulders back and proud as he stood up.

“Are you going to shoot me now?” She asked him defiantly.

He leaned down, grabbing her chin to maintain eye contact with her, holding her hard and letting the claws of his talons prick her skin, “We’re a lot alike, you and I.” He told her, “Two sides of the same coin, even.”

“I’m _nothing_ like you,” She snarled.

“Are you sure about that?” He asked her, “We’re both known for our work, experts in our fields…”

“You’re a _murderer_.”

He tilted his head and chuckled darkly behind the mask, her face going pale at the sound. “You’re right.” He replied, “I am. But so are you.” She sputtered in indignation but before she could reply, he went on, “Sure, I have a lot of notches in my belt, but yours weigh the heaviest. It’s not every day a single person can be responsible for the deaths of Gabriel Reyes _and_ Jack Morrison.”

She sucked in a breath, her big blue eyes becoming quickly glossy with tears at the mention of the two names he was certain would hurt her more than any bullet to the brain ever would.

“That wasn’t me,” She told him, her voice wavering.

“Sure,” He allowed, finally dropping her chin, “You didn’t kill them but they didn’t live under your watch either, did they?”

“I tried to…I tried…”

“Did you though?” He asked, “Did you _really_ try? Because I’m certain they wouldn’t be what they are now if you did.”

She frowned at that, her brow furrowing. “What?” She asked, her voice hushed as his words sank in.

“Danke _s_ chön for the quick fix, doc,” He let himself dissolve into the shadows, watching as she covered her mouth in horror and realization. He dropped a piece of paper at her knees before he completely succumbed to the shadows. “I owe you one.”

From a distance he listened to her let out a choked sob and crinkle the paper in her hands – the drawing of a potato-headed Mercy with finger wings giving her a lop-sided smile from its page.

He could spare that one. He had others.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a 'Mercy can't draw' joke and then it spiraled out of control.


End file.
